Road Trip

So, somehow one must get from point A to point B. Best plan of attack when attempting to haul large quantities of personal belongings? Road Trip!

My girl Alison volunteered to drive to California with me to keep me as close to this side of the line of sanity as possible for the 730ish mile trek from Salt Lake City to my friend's place in Oakland.

Ever prudent adventurers, we kept a highly accurate travel log.

6:00 AM - Hit ATM and in pursuit of any previously prepared sustenance at 6 o'clock on a Sunday morning, ended up at Burger King.

8:00 AM - Rach asks Alison 'Are you listening?'

8:11 AM - Arrive at Wendover gas station. Restroom reminds me of a horror movie.

10:10 AM - Rach almost crashes while reaching for a Frito.

Man walking alone on the interstate by trailer town.

Corvette convention passes us traveling in the opposite direction.

10:34 AM - Finally succumb to the iPod shuffle.

55 MPH - WTF is with the 'sleepy bumps' a.k.a. the rumble strips.

Time is confusing on my phone.

11:00 AM - Pussycat Ranch vs. Mustang Ranch

11:22 AM - Alison takes the helm while singing 'On The Road Again'

11:24 AM - Have never seen Alison so excited to drive. She is waving to the desert.

11:56 AM - Deciding whether trucker following Alison wants to kill or make love to her.

12:21 PM - Delusional from Orange Barrel Hypnotization. Alison remarks 'This can't be healthy for people's vision. It's wrong'

Singing the orange barrel blues over Bob Dylan's 'Rainy Day Women #12 and #35'

12:30 PM - My sunglasses have imprinted themselves into my head. Ouch.

12:43 PM - Rachael died tragic pterodactyl death. Voice note of said death sent to friend.

1:01 PM - Gas stop in West Fernley with the Burning Man peeps. there is a cow next to us. Cows creep me the hell out.

Ate 1/2 moon pie. 30 seconds later, ate the rest. Alison consumed her cosmic brownie NOT obtained from the Burning Man peeps.

Time Warp 1:30-3:15...

Initial impressions of Reno: trashy, run down casinos, transients. No food places to be found not attached or inside of a casino.

Creepy creeperton in a button up shirt and sweaty nose approaches our car at a stoplight and asks us for a ride.

After driving around for 30 minutes, we have come to the conclusion we have driven 500 miles to eat school lunch for adults at IHOP while our waitress cried.

Redeemed school lunch with a snack at the 'interesting' local 7-11 at which we obtained photographic evidence of clientele.

3:16 PM - Rach gets on the interstate, gives Reno the bird and says AMF.

3:24 California border, encountered possible Laotian cult with walkie talkies in vehicles numbered L1 - L5.

Road noise is like the the white noise that puts babies to sleep.

4:43 PM - Discomfort starts with our asses and we are sweaty from sun beating in through the windows.

5:54 PM - Hour 12. Alison is zoning out. Rach delusional. 70 miles to go never looked so far.

6:02 PM - Craving any real food which does not present itself in the form of a box, bag or IHOP.

No less than 1 million insects have plunged to their death on my windshield.


This is a test...


This blog will be documentation of my insanity filled decision to get the hell out of Dodge, drive to San Francisco and chase my dreams; my dreams of course - to attend pastry school. 24 hours from now, I'll be driving somewhere across the Nevada desert, car packed with the bare essentials, on my way to the Bay Area and no idea what to expect.

Since moving out of my condo a week ago, I've been in a transient state, not quite feeling like I have a home base in which to ground myself. I find myself waking up, not quite sure of where I am. Once I look around and see everything I own assembled in boxes and bins, it makes sense. Needless to say, sleep has been kicked down a few notches for me lately. My mind is all over the place and the sleep I do get is less than restful. Last night in particular, I recall a dream in which I flew to Belgium in pursuit of the perfect cupcake. Once the highly touted confection was found, I was much disappointed to learn it consisted of nothing more than a Hostess-like hockey puck topped with a preformed and neon-colored mound of marshmallow. It was as if the Oompa Loompas had been held hostage in an oven filled labor camp and were forced to create these hideous substandard goodies.

Strange dreams and last day of preparations have me both nervous and excited to see what awaits me by the bay. San Francisco, here I come!